I kept that card in the same drawer where the petition had once lived, waiting.
Ms. Alvarado filed the petition that same afternoon. The court date landed six weeks later, a Tuesday morning in a courtroom smaller than I’d expected, more like a large office than anything from television.
Marcus wore a tie he clearly wasn’t used to wearing, tugging at the collar twice before we even walked through the courthouse doors.
I’d never seen him in anything so formal before, and something about it made the whole morning feel more real than the paperwork alone ever could. Mom held my hand through most of it, even though I was, by then, legally an adult who technically didn’t need his hand held.
The judge, an older woman with kind eyes and a brisk manner, reviewed the paperwork for what felt like an impossibly long five minutes.
